Chapter 4“Jerk me blind!” Detective Maris Peterson almost went out the back door at the sight.
A platoon of reporters awaited him in front of the precinct. They buzzed around him like flies on poop when he emerged, crapped onto the steps after his unproductive interrogation of the Muceniek pair in booking.
“No comment,” he said repeatedly, descending the steps and hailing a magnacar on his trake.
One persistent pup reporter stuck a mike in his face. “It's said she's got friends at Justice. What's your response, Detective?”
An Omale, Maris saw, just doing his job. On a reporter's salary, he'd be indentured the rest of his life. “Find another line of work, kid.”
A magnacar pulled out of the clotted street, stopped in front of him, and popped open its door. A two-seater, he saw. Probably
